One day I'll know you
by There's a possibility.x
Summary: After a few years of being accustomed to and judging one another, Effie and Haymitch realise they're both horribly misunderstood creatures.
1. An Introduction

chapter 1:

She sighed internally once upon the train that would take her and the two district 12 tributes to the place she called home. It was the same old process. She had long gotten over the feelings of disgust, anger and helplessness she felt when the responsibility of reaping the chosen ones names came about once a year ultimately, she, issuing them with a death sentence. Effie Trinket had learnt the hard way as to how cruel the Hunger Games actually were when you knew and got attached to the youngsters involved. It was always an unspoken rule in the Capitol: don't discuss how unfair and unjust the games actually are but, by all means, talk about the clothes the tributes don, place bets on which one will triumph, discuss their gruesome deaths in minute detail and celebrate the 23 deaths lavishly. Yes, after her very first year as escort in the games, Effie had felt very sick and ashamed of her former self. She could argue that she was brought up on watching the games and that she didn't know better: that it was all anybody could ever talk about, and still is, but deep in her heart she knows she's never quite agreed with them but kept her mouth shut regardless and joined in the festivities with everyone else. And now, she thinks, she's definitely going to hell for she literally chooses them. Effie Trinket chooses who dies.

It wasn't always her plan to be an escort in the games, it just sort of happened. A job in the government was really what she had aimed for, but if she was being brutally honest with herself she thought fashion editor might be a bit more of a realistic goal. Nevertheless, she had gotten an interview for a job described to her by a green haired woman with heavily blushed cheeks at the Job Identification Center as needing someone with exceptional organizational and communication skills, brilliant punctuality and a sense of great responsibility. It sounded perfect to Effie at the time. She met all the requirements- heck it fitted her flawlessly! She attended the interview dressed to the nines in her Capitol attire, telling herself to remain calm and pleasant and then etched her face with the very same smile she uses presently to talk to her audience in district 12: how that audience must hate her and associate her with nothing other than taking their children to the slaughter-capitol.

She sat down at one side of the expensive wooden desk and was greeted by a man named Elite Remderton (Chief gamekeeper at the time). He was pleasant enough, talking up the job at hand, making her envision herself on stage, on TV. He spoke about how promotions would come with time; better districts and eventually maybe even a bigger and better job outside the games. She couldn't wait to get started even if it was district 12 she'd be travelling to and decided to see it as a challenge from that point on. She was going to do her damndest to make district 12 more appealing and, moreover, try to do the unimaginable- try to give 12 a winner. Not since the 50th Hunger Games had that happened. Not since Haymitch Abernathy had won the 2nd Quarter Quell. If only she had had the slightest idea of whom she'd be working with when she agreed to the job then and there. If only she'd known she'd get dealt Haymitch the disagreeable, unrestrained, unclean, bad mannered mentor who knows exactly how to push her buttons. She lets a real sigh escape her lips as she walks down the narrow passageway towards the trains' lounge. At first she was shocked and disgusted with him and how he behaved, but now that she knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of having to watch annually kids you know die, she ultimately sympathizes. She knows he must feel so much pain at reliving his own Hunger Games in his head; revisiting all the people he knew and killed. How their faces must haunt him. And to top it off the capitol forcing him to mentor each year- it most definitely will bring those memories flooding back. That doesn't stop her from trying to change his ways though. He's a smart, witty and, dare she think it, attractive man give him half a chance. If only he would put the bloody bottle down for 5 minutes and take a shower now and again. In truth she knows his problems lay deeper than this though and that it would take a lot for him to be truly happy again, but she hoped to God that day would come for him; he deserves it after all he'd been through. Unbeknownst to Effie at that point she was Haymitch Abernathy's best shot at feeling alive again…


	2. Near the beginning

Chapter 2: Near the beginning

They were sat a substantial distance apart from each other when she entered the room. Neither was making eye contact or forming any kind of a bond, which Effie thought was slight bad manners on both their parts. Never mind she scolded herself, she had work to do: getting the tributes accustomed to their new fate and living conditions was one of her responsibilities. She re-introduced herself and tried not to have her spirit dampened by their sad faces and hollow cheeks. Gosh, she hated the games. It was at that moment he decided to show his face, traipsing mud and grit through the new teal carpet, only installed a week prior to the reaping, without apologizing or giving a reason for his absence. She bites her tongue and stares into his back as he stumbles into the first available seat he comes across at the dining table. He's already plastered she thinks…great.

"I was just telling our new and brave tributes about the food to expect when we arrive, Haymitch." She says, her voice a little icier than previously before his entrance. "Surely, you can't even deny how wonderful it is?" She finishes with her trademark smile in place still boring her eyes into the back of his skull. He grunts something incoherent and fidgets slightly in his seat. The corners of her mouth drop slightly. "This, as I'm sure the two of you are perfectly aware, is your mentor, Haymitch." She said gesturing a small manicured hand towards the new arrival. "He will be helping you train, work out tactics and hopefully be working with me to get you two sponsors for when you're in the arena." Their poor little faces show that any small sign of hope they may have previously had has disappeared.

…No helpful input from Haymitch whatsoever.

"Honestly, it will be absolutely fine." she says "This is bound to be District 12's year. I mean there have only been 2 victors from 12 in the history of the games and the other districts' have all had more than their fair share of victors over that time period." she nods at them, her feeble attempt at reassurance not being particularly reassuring. "Haymitch, could I have a word please in the next carriage?"

…no response.

"Haymitch!"

"Wha-"

"Next carriage!"

He can sense a telling off from me and I'm half expecting him to embarrass me in front of the children by not adhering and replying with some sarcastic comment about what I can do in the next carriage, but to my surprise he stands up and follows me through the shiny automatic door. Once inside she gets a good look at his face: unshaved bristles protruding randomly around his still mouth and lower face and his eerie grey eyes are fixed with a drunken stare.

"Listen- I've known you for what? 5 years now? It's time to stop being a lousy drunk and help these kids, Haymitch darn it!"

He looks at her in her ridiculous Capitol get-up reminding him of where she came from, not quite believing that she is having the nerve to tell him what to do when it was her people that made him like this.

" Listen, Princess, I have no doubt in my drunken mind that these two are not going to make it out of whatever stupid arena they throw at this year's lot. They're too weak and quite frankly I can't put myself through this every fucking year!"

He's so unbelievably drunk she thinks. His emotions are starting to show: anger, fear, sorrow.

"Well, it's not about you Haymitch, you've got to try! You are their chance to come up with a plan; at least let them think they have a shot at winning. Give them that! "

"Give them false hope! I don't think I'd be doing them any favors lying to them!" He closes the small gap between them feeling rage at her, at the situation, at what his life has become. "I'll at least grant them the honesty they deserve!"

She holds his gaze, his grey eyes teeming with unvented rage, and slowly salty water that she can't suppress any longer starts to fill the bottom of her eyes. "Hay-mitch I-I" she stutters lamely. She hates herself for appearing weak and hates him equally for giving up.

Dammit, he thinks. He hates seeing her get all teary. He feels bad for taking his feelings out on her, and the majority of the time it has indeed been her that he's taken them out on. He rarely has human contact apart from at the games. He'd much rather it was just him and his bottle, that way no one gets hurt and no-one looks down on him while he tries to forget.

"Effie, I'm sorry it's jus-"

"Save it!" she snaps regaining control of herself and the situation "I know you're angry and miserable but my God once a year try and help them!" she says pointing through to the other carriage "Please, Haymitch!"

Her plea and the sound of his name escaping her softened voice stirs something inside of him. He looks at her and sees her big bright eyes begging him. Why does she have to do this to him? Why can't she just leave him be? He knows the answer: because she cares too much. He'd always suspected that it wasn't just to make herself look good, that the games affected her like they did him. Well not quite the same. She hadn't been put through the ordeal herself, nor had she had the possibility of being chosen or been forced to watch dear friends leave and never return whilst seeing their remaining families try and piece their lives back together after watching their child; their sibling; their friend die on nationally viewed TV that some call entertainment. But he could see she hated this…. or maybe it was just the drink clouding his vision. Either way it decided what he said next to her.

"Fine, I'll make an effort." He growls his eyes locked on hers again" But mark my words Princess, it'll hurt twice as bad when they die." And with that he leaves her standing in the carriage that is made to look like a conservatory with its padded cushioned furniture and large leafy plants everywhere. She takes in his words. Of course she knows it's not a bloody walk in the park, she got attached to all her previous tributes and it hurt like hell to see them die on screen- the bloodier the death the worse it was. To imagine those poor kids in blinding pain was tormenting to say the least and those images will probably stay with her always. Her mask that she wears- her over the top personality is how she hides it. Haymitch may turn to drink but Effie won't find solace in a bottle, instead she'll make it through the day pretending and cry most nights during the games, letting it out in the comfort of her own room…


	3. Realizing

Chapter 3: Realising

The cannon's boom signals the boy's death. He made it to day 3 and that years' games only lasted 4 days. They both continue to stare at the screen not saying a word. Haymitch eventually breaks the silence by unscrewing the bottle that was sitting at his feet and pouring out a generous amount of golden brown liquid into a glass on the table. He looks at her and back to her empty glass.

"Eff?"

She jolts back into the room from whatever thoughts were previously occupying her and turns to him him.

"Want one?" He asks weakly his eyes moving briefly towards the bottle in his hand. She normally wouldn't, opting for cocktails whenever sociably drinking but then the boy's death darted into her mind causing her to breathe unsteady and shake her head. She then stops moving and nods her head gravely. He takes that as a yes and pours her the same amount. They've been doing this for 7 years now…watching the games together in case their suspicions are false and that one of their tributes might get lucky. So far none. Not one. She picks up her glass and takes a large gulp of the alcohol. It stings her throat on the way down and she likes it: she feels like she deserves the stinging in her depressed mind. Haymitch watches her, taking slightly smaller gulps himself, and can't help feel a bit sad and impressed at watching her finish the contents of the glass in no time.

"Again." She states not taking her eyes off the glass. He finishes his own glass and fills them both back up. He figures they might as well get drunk together, he won't let her get ill though, and besides it's going to take a lot to get that axe smashing Merlow's skull to a bloody pulp out of their heads. When she almost downs that glass in one, he decides to voice his concern.

"You might wanna take it easy there darlin', this ain't cocktails on the town you're drinking here."

"I'm perfectly aware of that thank you Mr. I-know-everything-about-drink-because-I'm-an-alcoholic!" Her reply is bitter and she immediately regrets her cold reaction to his uneasiness, but she can't help feel patronized. She's not who most people think she is: she is not oblivious.

"Oww, harsh words from the Capitol lady; I think I may never get over that one." He replies sarcastically, deliberately wanting some raw emotion from her. To see her like she has seen him so many times before, broken from this whole situation.

"Stop mentioning the fact I'm from the capitol please- it really ticks me off!"

"Not proud of that monstrosity you come from now, I wonder why?" He knows he's done it with that line, he just doesn't expect a full breakdown on her part.

"NO, NOT IN THESE CIRCUMSTANCES I AM NOT!" she yells, perhaps a little louder than she meant to. She picks the bottle off the table and fills another glass. "Do YOU think I enjoy this, Haymitch! Do you SERIOUSLY think I can't see how life destroying these games are! How overly cruel and sadistic they are! How much they hurt those involved! How much they hurt you!"

He's taken aback slightly. Her delicate features contorted with the effort of shouting, her face enraged and genuine anger present in her eyes. But the most shocking part of her outburst was the fact that she mentioned his own demons personally. He questions his behavior over the years. Was the pain really visible for everyone to see? No, he decides. It most certainly is not. He's the drunk and of course no one enjoys the games, but plenty of victors are still out there smiling and having a life, as far as he's concerned people just think he's a drunken bastard.

"Well I'm over it, Sweetheart!" He shouts feebly back "I didn't know it was possible for a Capitol Princess like you to have a heart!"

His words sting her heart, puncturing it all over repeatedly. The tears start to well and she turns to him and puts her 4th glass of alcohol down. "That is a fucking lie, Haymitch!" Her swearing has grabbed his attention from his selfish self-hating thoughts and he also turns towards the center of the sofa. He's met with her angry eyes streaming with tears. They soften slightly at his eye contact and he notices that some of the capitol make-up she wears daily has started making an escape with the tears to the bottom of her face revealing streaks of peachy skin. It's then he realizes he doesn't know her at all. Not really. He's only ever seen the organized, people-pleaser who puts up with her societies idea of normality so well. He's never taken an interest in her as a person beyond the games. Never been sober enough in truth and now he feels like the world's biggest arsehole for assuming she was just like the rest: like the escorts before her.

"Effie?" He asks tentatively testing to see if she's finished being angry.

"You are not fine!" she responds a little quieter. "You are in a constant state of melancholy!"

"Well, that's not true. A lot of the time I'm in a state of complete drunken bliss." He meant it as a bit of a joke, but his face remained sad and Effie could see the pain clearer than ever. He was finally opening up a little. She exhaled loudly, her body relaxing visibly, but not breaking eye contact with him. "I've hurt too." Was all she managed to say. After a short period of silence she continues "Because of them. It was now Haymitch's turn to want answers, but he waited patiently for her to continue to be brave. "My parents… They killed them." His eyes widen at this news. Surely not, Effie's parents had to be Capitol through and through, but then again, Snow was a twisted bastard who stopped at nothing if he thought something was an inconvenience to him and his career.

"What happened?" He asks softly, quietly wondering if he should comfort her, but decides topping up her glass is a more appropriate idea. He hands her the glass she discarded earlier and she takes another large gulp and tells him her story. Of how her father had worked in politics, how he was getting close to being considered for the presidential role. He was well liked, charming and fair: everything Snow was not. And then one day he dropped just dead at his work. It was made to look like a tragedy, but not for the one it was. She tells him poison was what she suspected was the cause...poison kept by Snow. Her mother knew it wasn't an accident, not the heart attack it was made out to be, and she marched up to Snow's mansion shortly after the funeral, after she had grieved and the shock was over. Effie's voice cracks a little at the end of her last line and she unsuccessfully wipes her face on the back of her long sleeved top revealing more peach coloured skin and with it more humanity. He could tell she was beautiful behind the whole façade; he always wanted her to just to be free and natural and forget the so-called fashion trends in this God-awful place. He focuses back on her and her story knowing that the last part can't be good. She lets a staggered breath escape her before telling him that that was the last time she ever seen or heard from her mother ever again.


End file.
